


Abandoned Beast Wars Snippets

by EnRaa



Category: Transformers: Beast Wars
Genre: Cannibalism, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Obsessive Behavior, Public Sex, Reanimation, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threesome - M/M/M, Transformers Spark Bonds, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2020-10-18 01:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnRaa/pseuds/EnRaa
Summary: These are just stories I don't have the time or interest to finish, so I figured rather than waste them I could post them and at least provide a little entertainment. Some are serious, but it's really just gratuitous porn.Chapters will have the focus of the story in the titles, so if there's anything you're looking to avoid you can use them as a guide.





	1. Quickstrike/Tarantulas - Exhibitionism, Heat

“Tarantulas, what is the meaning of this?!” Megatron barked, completely outraged by the spectacle in front of him.

“Yeah Nerd-bot, what’s with the Fuzor?” Blackarachnia chimed in, glaring at the fellow spider.

Tarantulas simply shrugged, pumping the false spike in and out of his Fuzor lazily. Quickstrike was sprawled out in the scientist’s lap, legs spread as far as his frame would allow and valve on display for all to see. He was moaning and squirming uncomfortably, trying to grind down harder on the spike buried deep in his valve. 

“Quickstrike’s heat is much more intense than I’ve ever seen, possibly since his programming is skewed by being a Fuzor. You called for a meeting that _everyone_ was ordered to attend, and when I tried to explain Quickstrike’s predicament, you said no excuses. _This_,” Tarantulas removed the spike from Quickstrike’s valve, causing a torrent of lubricant to gush out behind it. “-is the only way the Fuzor can attend. If his valve isn’t filled or stimulated, he’ll just crawl into one of your laps instead.” Tarantulas explained casually, sitting the spike down so he could rest his servo for a moment.

As soon as the stimulation was gone, Quickstrike was whining and struggling to get anything back into his valve. The mech’s array was swollen and running almost impossibly hot, lubricant coming out in constant streams.

“Right… Well, I suppose I did say that, yes…” Megatron frowned, pinching his nasal ridge. “Just try to keep him quiet then.”


	2. Rampage/Depth Charge - Reanimation, Spark Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rampage refuses to let go of his beloved old friend. He knows he can fix him.
> 
> He just needs time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No porn in this one, just feels and Rampage being obsessive.

He had very little time. With every passing moment the small, fragile life force in his servos was fading. He had to act quickly if he wanted this to work; He’d already lost time tearing through the layers of thick plating his playmate adorned just to get to his spark.

Rampage opened his chest plates and brought the rapidly shrinking orb to his own strong, pulsing spark. It reached out with small tendrils, taking the weaker one from his servos and bringing it into his chamber, his own spark enveloping it completely. Closing his chest plates, Rampage cast one last look to his fallen playmate.

His body was a wreck, missing limbs and sporting several cracks in his armor and protoform. He’d put up a good fight against Megatron, but obviously not good enough.

But he was fine.

Would be fine.

Rampage could already feel his spark merging with the weaker one, feeding it energy and mending it. Becoming one with it.

He’d have Depth Charge back.

Several solar-cycles passed. The spark he’d merged with his own was growing strong, beginning to brim with life once more.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Rampage clutched over his spark chamber longingly. He was impatient, too eager to see his old friend once more, but he had to wait. It wouldn’t be much longer and they’d be together like old times. The new spark pulsed erratically in his chamber, feelings of panic and worry radiating from it. It wasn’t ready; _He_ wasn’t ready. His old friend, once so angry, could only project feelings right now. He didn’t understand yet what was happening, not fully aware of anything besides the spark healing him.

The crab just fed him calm and relaxed pulses, easing it back into quiet for now. He wanted to feel the spark, be constantly reminded that yes, his dear old friend was still here with him, but extinguishing it for a mere moment of entertainment would make this all for not.

He'd see him soon.

Soon.

“I fixed you. Aren’t you glad?” The Predacon was absolutely giddy, and Depth Charge could feel it in his entire being.

“_Fixed me? There was nothing wrong with me!_” Rampage could feel the confusion and panic as Depth Charge tried desperately to figure out what happened to him, why he felt so strange and...empty.

He didn't try to calm him, though, knowing his own spark was positively vibrating with the excitement of talking to his old playmate once more. And there were no battles to be had. No places to run. This is what he had wanted for them.

Rampage smirked, and he was sure Depth Charge could feel his amusement right through their connection. “Quite the contrary, old friend; I almost lost you.” He supplied simply.

“_Lost me…?_” Depth Charge pondered the statement, but he wouldn't find anything. His data tracks were in his destroyed frame, in his damaged processor, and processor memories were short and unimportant. Like death.

Only the strongest feelings, the most influential moments, were stored in the spark, and X _delighted_ in the fact that Depth Charge's most intimate part remembered _him_.

“Yes, and you gave me quite a scare. But you’re okay now.” He affirmed, and the Maximal didn't argue, or more precisely, couldn't argue.He felt his fatigue come very suddenly, and Rampage helped lull him into dormancy once more.

After all, there wold be plenty of time for petty squabbling later, when he put his old friend in his new frame.


	3. Depth Charge/Rampage - Obsessive Behaviors, Violence

“He touched you.” The claim was snarled into Depth Charge’s audial as he was slammed back into the stone wall of the cave, the experiment's solid frame pinning his to the hard surface. Rampage was shaking with barely-restrained rage, his grip too-tight and his optics burning with jealousy and pure, raw hatred. His servos roved over the manta’s newly repaired frame, emerald optics narrowing as he took note of the patches he felt. “He _hurt_ you…”

“X-“ Depth Charge started, but was shushed as the red servo cupped his cheek suddenly and forced him to look first to his right, then to his left as Rampage inspected him for any further damage.

The crab growled low and continuous as he looked over Depth Charge. “Where is he?!” He demanded, roughly jerking the blue mech’s helm to look at him.

Hissing his discomfort at being handled in such a fashion, Depth Charge glowered up at him. “Offline.” He grunted, shifting uncomfortably in Rampage’s hold. “Check my subspace.”

Rampage studied the ex--Maximal for a long moment before he finally reached down, the compartment opening with a little ‘snick’ sound. Reaching in, the crab’s face contorted in confusion as he felt over the object within. He knew what it was the moment he touched it, slowly taking it out and staring in shock at it. His optics flickered between the little ball of life and Depth Charge in confusion.

The manta reached up and tapped expectantly on the crab’s chest, giving the mech an impatient glare. The larger mech braced his arms on the stone wall, arms caging in the blue mech as he parted his chest plates and bared his spark. Tearing the contraption apart and tossing the little pieces aside, Depth Charge maneuvered his servo into the spark chamber and guided the little ball of light to its rightful home, watching in barely concealed awe as it merged fully into one once more.

A shudder of relief and the almost foreign feeling of _full _passed through Rampage as he stared down at Depth Charge with a look the ex-Maximal had become quite familiar with over the years and had come to know as complete and utter adoration. "My sweet..." He purred, leaning forward until their chest plates were touching and their faceplates were only inches apart. "What a lovely violent streak you've taken on..." He murmured as the memories of the clone's final moments became clear. "I think I've rubbed off on you, old friend."

Depth Charge scoffed and glared up at Rampage, red optics boring into the experiment's own with ferocity reserved only for him. "Try to hold on to your spark this time, creep. I don't like other bots taking what's rightfully mine."


	4. Rampage/Tarantulas/Quickstrike | A Brief Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though he wasn't as active a participant as he'd have liked, Quickstrike was content to watch and give the odd helping hand...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this seems familiar, you read this ages ago as its own work. I deleted the old, short one and added it here.

The Fuzor watched his splayed out lover with rapt attention, taking in every detail, every hitch in ventilation.

After all, it wasn't every solar-cycle the great and mighty Tarantulas was taking it in the valve.

Tarantulas' valve was spread wide, puffy and swollen from taking such a large spike, and Rampage's pace left nothing to be desired. Even on his back, supporting all of the spider's weight, the crab was able to dent Tarantulas' thigh plating with the force of his thrusts.

Quickstrike had a very up-close and personal view of the show, being only a foot or two from the pair, and although he'd always preferred a more active role in the berth, he was more than happy to sit back and watch Rampage completely wreck his lover.

the spider was letting out all sorts of small moans and whimpers of pleasure, things that Quickstrike had never heard when he and Tarantulas interfaced. In the spike department, Quickstrike was on the large side of average for his petite size, whereas Tarantulas was quite endowed, and fit very well in Quickstrike's valve.

Now, with Rampage buried to the hilt in his valve, Tarantulas was getting a taste of the far more rewarding side of a good 'face, and it showed in the way he arched and writhed with every hard thrust.

The two stopped rather suddenly, and Tarantulas groaned in annoyance as he was lifted just a tad, enough for that thick spike to pop out of his stretched and soaked valve.

Rampage chuckled, petting along the spider's back soothingly. "Shhh. You'll get what you want soon..." He purred right into the scientist's audial, and Tarantulas shivered at the tone, his valve clenching down on nothing.

The crab looked over his shoulder at Quickstrike and nodded down towards his spike. "Suck, Fuzor." He commanded, idly scratching the spider's chin as he waited for Quickstrike to comply. "You don't want to keep your Bossbot waiting, do you?"

Tarantulas shot him a look that spurred the Fuzor on, and Quickstrike snapped his intake cover back and took what little of the spike he could into his mouth.

Rampage was quiet, something Quickstrike wasn't used to when he usually sucked spike, but the eager shift in the crab's hips told him all he needed to know as he sucked and laved at the large, pointed head of the mech's spike.

Without a conventional mouth, there wasn't much the little Fuzor could really do. In reality, the former experiment was lucky he'd even gotten his spike in Quickstrike's intake.

Tarantulas shifted impatiently and inched his hips down so his valve rested atop the larger mech's spike, letting the impressive length spread him wide.

Knowing what his boss was up to, Quickstrike gave one final suck before pulling away from Rampage's spike so he could watch the show. He angled the mech's spike so Rampage could easily slip back into the spider's dripping valve, and within seconds he was back to his bruising pace.

Sure, Quickstrike loved being the center of the action in an interface.

But sometimes watching could be much, much more interesting...


	5. Depth Charge/Rampage | Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Depth Charge finally gives in and tries something Rampage has been urging him to do for a while. He didn't think he'd enjoy it that much...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Migrating old short fics to this spot, so if it's familiar you probly read it as a stand alone fic.

He'd initially been very...apprehensive.

Sparks were the embodiment of life, memories, experiences... It was the very essence of every Cybertronian – It was what made them an individual. Every spark was unique in its make up, just as every mech and femme were distinctly different from one another. Energy pulsed from every spark, giving life to the protoform and awareness to the processor.

Depth Charge could feel his own spark pounding in its chamber, while the tingles of the corona being pressed to his lip plates sent currents of energy pounding through his circuitry and excitement bubbling in his frame.

“Open up...”

Warm fingers cupped his face and gently dipped his helm back, and then the digits were ghosting over his lip plates and dipping inside, pressing deep into his mouth and dragging over his glossa, reminding him of a spike if it were heavier, hotter. Much heavier if it were his lover's.

Obediently, the Maximal opened his mouth, feeling those fingers ease out. For a moment, he felt let down – weighted and tasting of the energon collected off of Depth Charge's own servos, the digits were an arousing addition to this whole experience.

“Now, now, my sweet... Be patient...” Rampage purred, making the manta groan, a louder noise than he'd first anticipated with his mouth open.

“You've tasted energon... But even when processed differently, filtered through the systems of a living mech, it tastes just the same as raw...”

The tingle became more prominent, but the small orb of energy was too far yet for Depth Charge to taste, hovering just out of his reach. A tease.

“But a spark... That is something I know you can appreciate, dear friend. I want you to taste this mech; Taste his life. What he felt before you tore into him and ripped him apart...”

Flashes of his deed surged through his processor, and he could still feel the tingle of draining life in his servos... The look of fear in the optics of his prey as he pulled his spark casing from its confines within the armored chest cavity.

“I want...to taste it.” He whispered, a plea. It felt like some divine reward for his efforts; He stalked his prey, hunted it, harvested a piece of it, and then enjoy the fruits of his efforts with his beloved. It felt natural, albeit in a carnal way...

Perhaps the byproduct of their beast modes.

Depth Charge's glossa peaked from his mouth, and the spark was dipped down just enough for him to get a small taste before it was eased back again.

Bitterness. Very bitter. He'd almost say angry, if he had to give it a name. He felt like he could sense their entire being from just that one taste – like he knew them.

A rumble of satisfaction drew his attention to his lover just in time to watch Rampage take a bite of the small ball of life. He could see the way the crab's body shuddered as the energy of another ran through his body, hear him laugh maliciously as he felt the mech's pain and suffering on his glossa.

It made him want more...

“Rampage...” His voice was weak, heavy with need. No doubt the crab was enjoying teasing him like this.

“Yes, my sweet?”

“I... I need more..”

Sadistic glee lit up the mech's green optics and he cackled happily.

“And more you will have, old friend...”


	6. Inferno/Quickstrike | Feed the Starving Faithful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inferno treats him as if he were some precious deity. Who is Quickstrike to deny the mech worship?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Migrated from an old stand alone.

“Mmm… Hah… Not so fast… Yesss…! Just like that! Good bot…”

Inferno nuzzles affectionately into the Maximal’s interface equipment, watching the small mech’s chassis jump and smiling into the slick folds as the Fuzor’s ventilations hitch. These little reactions give away whenever he does something just right, and he can read his lover like a book. He presses his glossa to the puffy lips of the mech’s valve, licking a long strip right up the center and reveling in how that makes his lover’s leg twitch and jerk as the Fuzor groans long and loud, helm thrown back and backstrut bowing.

“Nngh, stop yer teasin’ ant bot!” Quickstrike moans. He’s trembling with pent-up charge, a state the ant bot is very proud to have reduced him to. He knows the little Maximal’s body well, from the sensitive plating of his inner thighs to the way his shoulder cabling knots after a battle, and he manipulates it with the gentlest of touches and only the most careful of sucks and licks.

His Maximal is something to be adored, not marked up and tossed away. Inferno worships him like some sort of deity, allowing the little bot to sit upon him like some sort of personal throne and please him in any way the Fuzor desires.

He is Quickstrike’s to use.

A Predacon through and through, Inferno is Megatron’s Second for a reason. Yet here he is, between a Maximal soldier’s thighs as the little bot rides his glossa like a pro, doing all kinds of things to his little lover that his Queen would probably terminate him for if he found out.

Though his allegiance is with Megatron, his spark is with Quickstrike, and Inferno never feels as free as when he’s pleasuring the small Maximal. In the berth, underneath his lover, he’s not a Predacon. He’s not a soldier or a second in command…

He’s a lover, who’s only job is to bring the most pleasure he can out of his Fuzor’s frame as he can and he does it well, wringing overload after overload from his frame until the mech is too tired to move.

That’s when he feels right.

And Quickstrike, though he would never admit it aloud, loves every klik of it too.

The fire bot is quite talented with his mouth, thrusting his glossa up into the mech’s valve and playing with all the most sensitive spots until the Fuzor’s thighs tremble around his helm and his hips jerked down into his lover’s mouth as he chases his overload.

Inferno never asks for anything in return. This is about his lover; Servicing the Fuzor is a sort of pleasure in itself, every mewl and moan a strike of pure ecstasy through his circuitry. He derives great pleasure just from being beneath his Maximal like this, allowing the little mech to bounce and ride him as he pleases.

Quickstrike isn’t selfish though, and after his first overload he’ll shimmy down Inferno’s chassis and onto his faithful Pred’s spike and ride it til Inferno forgets all about Megatron and the Beast Wars, til all he remembers is his Maximal.

The thought makes Inferno heat up, his spike straining against his cover but he keeps it closed until the Fuzor wants it. His lover shouldn’t feel rushed or like anything is expected of him.

Inferno moans into the mech’s folds as globs of thick lubricant begin dribbling out from the clenching valve and into his mouth, sweet as the finest high grade and making the fire bot equally as intoxicated. He drinks it up like a divine offering, taking a moment to savor it.

Only when his lover starts to whine, left on the brink of an overload, does he continue to suck and lave over the swollen anterior node atop the mech’s valve. Quickstrike’s hips jerk and roll into each and every caress of the Pred’s glossa, thighs tightening just a little bit around Inferno’s helm.

Overload claims the little Maximal, his backstrut going rigid and his helm lolling back as he cries out loudly. Inferno ups his assault, shoving his glossa into the mech’s valve and roughly stimulating all those sensors, prolonging the little Fuzor’s overload.

The fire bot drinks up every bit of lubricant that spills into his mouth, savoring every clench and spasm around his glossa as the mech comes down from his overload. He’s trembling from the ferocity of it, and pride swells in Inferno’s chest.

Slowly, he shimmies down the mech’s chassis until his valve is resting over Inferno’s codpiece. He gets comfortable before he begins undulating his hips, dragging the wet, hot folds of his valve over Inferno’s spike cover teasingly.

“Now let’s take care of _yer_ charge, Fire Bot…”


End file.
